


Five Times Ben Was A Disaster, And One Time It Didn’t Matter

by trailsofpaper (Sanwall)



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanwall/pseuds/trailsofpaper
Summary: A modern au where Ben is an accidental Trash Monster, and his neighbor is the most beautiful man in the world





	

**Author's Note:**

> directly inspired by [this tumblr post](http://katie-altman.tumblr.com/post/151995121065/the-most-beautiful-man-in-the-world-who-lives-in) , and tumblr user [movingsoup](http://movingsoup.tumblr.com/). I literally wrote this in one day, I hope you like it.

1.

The first time Ben sees the most beautiful man in the world, he really wishes it wasn’t a Tuesday afternoon, because Tuesday afternoons are the afternoons where Ben has to bike all the way home from Columbia University Campus in a rush to make it to his part time job. He really wishes in particular that it wasn’t the Tuesday that he forgot his helmet.

This is how it happens.

Ben, out of breath, with his grey sweater clinging to his back and his armpits with extremely conspicuous dark stains, and with his hair in damp strands across his face, catching on his lips and in his eyelashes where it isn’t a frazzled mess in the back, stumbles into his building and almost walks head first into another person.

Excuse me, Ben wants to say, excuse me, I’m in a hurry. But the words die in his throat the second he looks up and locks eyes with the most beautiful man in the world.

His face is the kind of face that makes you think of a warm autumn day, when the sky is clear, the air is crisp and the colors vibrant because the sunlight is falling at just the right angle - it’s a face for adventure but also a nice kind of homecoming. This face is framed by the most luxurious, well-kept beard and softly curling hair that instantly brings to mind a cup of thick, hot chocolate. The eyes, the color of river water; an animated kind of brown with sparkles of green and blue, are huge and lively, lined with just a hint of laughter.

Ben’s knees have basically turned liquid and he can’t blame the bike ride.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, voice tinted with humour and the softest lilt of an accent that Ben can’t quite place. The man slides deftly past Ben, who is left gaping and standing like an idiot in the stairwell, can only watch him disappear out the door and onto the bustling New York streets.

“What happened to you?” Anna asks as soon as Ben steps into Strong Coffee, freshly showered, with his hair in a professional bun and a nicely pressed work shirt, generally looking very dateable and nice and regretting most of his life choices.

“Nothing,” Ben sighs and slips behind the counter, tying the blue apron around his waist. “I just saw the most beautiful man in the world, while I looked like absolute hell.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Anna informs him in a no-nonsense tone. “Go get a fresh batch of beans from the back, the machine’s almost out.”

2.

Ben resigns himself to never seeing the most beautiful man in the world ever again, and is secretly kind of relieved, because it was clearly not meant to be.

This is why he doesn’t care that the work shift had been kind of a nightmare. His previously pristine shirt is wrinkled, and has a giant spot of red hummus on it because apparently Abe thinks a good seduction technique is to make Anna really, really mad at him for inconveniencing her staff. His hair is coming out of the bun in unflattering ways, looping around his ears and curling in the neck, falling untidily across the sweat-damp collar.

So it is with profound relief that Ben reaches for the door to his building, resting one hand on it as he tiredly searches for his keys somewhere in the bottom of his worn messenger bag with the other.

“Allow me,” says a voice with a dangerously familiar lilt, and Ben jerks his hand back, straightening up in horror as the most beautiful man in the world smiles at him and unlocks the door. His brown curls are artfully ruffled, and there’s a pleasant, warm smell about him that makes Ben think of a newly lit fire, wood crackling and smoking.

This time, Ben manages to speak.

“Thanks,” he says, but he’s been chatting with customers for the entire seven-hour shift and it is close to midnight, and so it comes out as a hoarse grunt more than anything else.

Ben wants to die, so when the most beautiful man in the world heads for the elevator, Ben takes the stairs instead, one painful step after the other. The elevator dings somewhere above him when he’s on the third floor, and he finally produces his keys when he steps onto the fifth floor, unlocking his own apartment door with a resigned sigh.

3.

It’s not like Ben has a lot of time to dwell on the most beautiful man in the world, who apparently lives in his apartment building, and possibly also works seven hour shifts on Tuesdays afternoons. Ben has a lot of other things to do than plan his life around the possibly misinterpreted schedule of a possible neighbor; he studies law, which feels like a full-time job more often than not, and besides that and the part-time job at Strong Coffee, he works as a teaching assistant for Professor Washington.

This actually means that he can’t plan his life around anything - more often than not, Ben gets home well after midnight, falling straight into bed to catch a precious seven to eight hours of blissful sleep. It gets to the point where working at Strong Coffee actually feels like a break, because Ben is beginning to suspect that grading papers every day for five hours is starting to give him carpal tunnel, and that’s not even taking into account all the typing he does on Washington’s behalf.

“Babe,” Anna tells him one day when his hands shake so much that he has to serve coffee with both hands clasped around the cup so that not everything ends up on the floor. “Ben, you need to take a break.”

“Midterms,” is all Ben can reply, giving the customer what he thinks is a smile, but the slightly concerned look she gives him makes him wonder if it was more of a rigor mortis baring of teeth.

“Take the rest of the shift off,” Anna tells him, her voice uncharacteristically soft as she gives Ben a pat on the arm. “Take tomorrow morning off as well. Sleep in. I’ll make Abe help, he hangs out here all the time anyway”

“If you’re giving me time off, I need to study,” Ben protests, but Anna quickly pinches his side to shut him up.

“I’m giving you time off so you can take a break,” she says firmly, even as Ben rubs his side, squinting at the pain. “Don’t make me make you come to work just to have you do nothing. Here.”

She walks over to the freezer and throws open the white lid.

“These are all about to get old,” she says and produces three batches of Ben&Jerries íce cream. “We’re too hipster nowadays to sell them anyway. Eat them.”

“Uh,” says Ben, and allows his arms to be stuffed with frost-crusted ice cream, a bag of eco-friendly chips and some kind of root vegetable version, and finally, a Snickers bar propped in between his teeth, the wrapper wrinkled but intact.

“Go home and relax, that’s an order,” Anna says, and unties his apron for him with a deft twist of her hand.

“Fanks,” Ben manages to get out around the Snickers, and staggers home, which thankfully is just around the block.

It’s a lot to coordinate, so when someone holds up the door for him, he pushes past, mindlessly thankful for not having to open the door himself.

“Having a party?

“No, just for me,” Ben says dreamily, already thinking of kicking off his shoes and falling onto his couch and not move for the foreseeable future, which is why it registers too late that the one asking is, again, the most beautiful man in the world.

This time, Ben notices two things about him. One is that he’s a little shorter than Ben, but noticeably broader in build. The other is that he’s wearing an expression that is so clearly void of judgement that Ben knows that this man is judging him for all he’s worth.

Ben wants to curse life, God, and the universe, because this isn’t who Benjamin Tallmadge is, not really. Benjamin Tallmadge is a Columbia law student who likes to cook healthy food and keeps his apartment clean and dresses with care, and he is so angry that happenstance instead keeps presenting this haphazard hot mess of a human to him, the most beautiful man in the world.

Thankfully, the most beautiful man in the world, only gives him that one look, devoid of judgement so much that it is definitely judgemental, before going out the door again, leaving Ben standing with his arms full of ice cream and mouth full of Snickers and regret.

4.

Ben tells himself that three times is the maximum amount of times he’s allowed to run into the most beautiful man in the world while looking like a complete disaster, so while he doesn’t take extra care to look good before he walks out the door, he does start to put up his hair before he exits, instead of doing a messy ponytail in the stairwell as was his habit previously.

There isn’t much he can do about midterms, however. He gets home when he gets home, usually after library closing time, his messenger bag slung over his drooping shoulder, and circles under his eyes as dark as his future prospects. Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

In a way, it’s oddly freeing. Why does Ben have to care about anyone’s opinion? The most beautiful man in the world doesn’t even matter anymore, because all Ben has to do is keep his head above water and pass the exams, and after that nothing could possibly seem daunting again.

So Ben feels totally fine, he’s on top of his game, really.

For once, he’s home while there’s still light outside, and he feels like a responsible adult with a handle on his life, so he stops by the row of mailboxes on the ground floor to get the mail, which he may or may not have neglected the past week.

Ben reaches for this mail slot, high enough that it’s a bit of a work to open it, and his other hand is apparently not holding his bag as he was imagining it did, because the messenger bag slides off his shoulder and lands on the floor with a sad thump.

Ben doesn’t lower his hand or move, other than to look down at it.

“Et tu, Brute?” he says, voice breaking with sorrow. “I thought I could trust you. I’ve taken care of you. I even used water repellent to spare you from the New York weather, and this is how you repay me?”

Ben’s eyes water, and he remembers to blink, and this is when a blurry shape by the door snaps into focus. It is, of course, the most beautiful man in the world.

Why wouldn’t it be the most beautiful man in the world, Ben thinks somewhat hysterically as the man scratches his beard a little, regarding Ben again with that non-judgemental look that makes Ben feel like he’s been sent to hell.

“Ha,” Ben says weakly, bending to pick up his bag, and leaves without looking at the man. By the door, Ben realizes he never actually got around to retrieving his mail, and glances back to see the most beautiful man in the world open the mail slot right next to his, and so he abandons the thought of ever seeing his mail again.

5.

The final exam, like most things, finally come to pass, and Ben feels almost delirious with relief. It’s a Tuesday, so he bikes home, but Anna has told him that she can handle the shift alone (which Ben thinks means she doesn’t want him to see how she’s actually beginning to like Abe) so Ben looks forward to his couch and nothing but his couch for the rest of the day.

He doesn’t notice how tired he is until he almost swerves into traffic, and the resounding car horn jolts him awake with an adrenaline kick that keeps him alert and pedalling evenly the rest of the way home.

Well inside his building, the last of the adrenaline fades away and leaves Ben’s knees shaky, and muscles numb with fatigue. He gives the stairs one, despairing look, before going straight for the elevator, thumbing listlessly at the button and leaning against the doors until they finally slide open. He stumbles in, doing a weird sort of half-pirouette from the sheer velocity of it, managing to avoid falling over simply by bracing his arms on either wall of the elevator. The doors close in front of him, and Ben leans against them gratefully, trying to keep his eyes open.

It’s no time at all before the doors open again, and Ben is completely unprepared. He stumbles out, and this time he does not manage any kind of pirouette to keep his balance intact. He knows before he actually does it, in a breathless sort of panic-induced slow motion, that he’s going to fall over.

He falls, but he miraculously does not land with his face first on cold floor tiles. Instead, Ben gets a face full of warm sweater, and feels a pair of warm hands envelop his shoulders to gently push him upright.

“Are you alright?” asks the most beautiful man in the world, and for once Ben does not want to sink through the earth with shame, he instead wants to sink into this man’s beautiful hazel eyes.

“I’m okay,” Ben replies, and somehow he finds that he actually means it. He smiles a little, and the most beautiful man in the world smiles back. Ben realizes his own hands have come up to squeeze the arms of the most beautiful man in the world, and he finds that he very much enjoys the solid muscle he can feel under the layers of clothing.

He also realizes his weight is mostly borne by him, and hurries to straighten his knees, removing his hands. The most beautiful man is in no hurry to remove his own though; his hands slide along Ben’s arms, not suggestively but still lingering. It sends a shiver down Ben’s spine, and he clears his throat as the man does not avert his gaze.

“You look like a man in need of a drink,” the most beautiful man in the world says, and for the life of him Ben could not say what compelled him to be able to reply,

“Are you offering?”

The most beautiful man in the world throws his head back and laughs, and Ben thinks he falls in love right on the spot.

“I am,” he says and stretches out a hand. “My name’s Caleb, I work at the micro-brewery around the corner. I’m willing to give you one on the house.”

Ben takes his hand, feeling his callused palm against his own.

“My name’s Ben,” he replies, and a small surge of excitement sends his heart hammering when Caleb smiles, and says¨,

“Ben. Nice to meet you.”

 

+1

They fall easily into a talkative camaraderie; getting to know each other feels like the most effortless thing in the world to Ben. He’s also very happy to be able to show Caleb a slightly more adjusted and well-rounded version of himself.

Caleb is comfortable with himself in a way that Ben doesn’t think he could ever be. Caleb shops all his clothes second hand, but makes sure they all fit ( _I have a sewing machine, why wouldn’t I use it?_ ). He uses beard oil for his beard ( _here, Benny, feel it! Makes a difference, doesn’t it?_ ) and doesn’t use shampoo, because his hair is fine if he just rinses it with water every once in a while.

They kissed once, that first night they spent talking to each other, after Caleb had plied Ben with a beer from the brewery that tasted lemony and with a tang of birch.

Ben would very much like to kiss Caleb again, but their schedules don’t match even if they literally live opposite each other. It’s a wonder they ever managed to run into each other in the stairwell, Ben thinks sourly as they try to set up another date via incessant texting.

“Who are you texting?” Anna finally demands to know when Ben once again whips out his phone from under the apron to smile giddily at the string of emojis Caleb has sent him.

“Remember the most beautiful man in the world?” Ben says happily, but his smile falters when Caleb sends the message “ _free now, how about u?”_.

He looks at Anna, who makes a face, and then back to the phone. _“At work”_ he writes back. _“I don’t get off until midnight.”_

_“where’s work?”_

_“Strong coffee. Is the name of the place, but also the product that we sell”_

There is no reply, and Ben tucks the phone away, feeling somewhat deflated. He brushes a lock of hair behind his ear and starts to check on the sandwiches in the glass case on the counter when the door to the café opens, sending in a gust of early autumn air and the smell of hops.

Ben looks up to find Caleb smiling at him, hands in the pocket of his long coat, and the collar of his flannel shirt turned up against the wind.

“Hey,” he says, and Ben smiles back, a strange kind of relief washing through him.

“He’s alright, I suppose,” Anna says with a sniff, but she grins when Ben gives an indignant yelp. Caleb doesn’t hear, busy with taking off his coat and hanging it by the door.

Caleb sets himself down on one of the barstools by the counter, orders a coffee (black, with one lump of sugar, and Ben commits this order to memory for the rest of his life) and sips it thoughtfully whenever Ben has a customer to take care of. When Ben doesn’t, he and Caleb talk about anything and everything, so much so that Anna has to roll her eyes and finally shoo them both out at closing time, not even allowing Ben to help her put the chairs up.

Ben and Caleb walk to their apartment building, shoulders knocking together in an easy sort of intimacy. Caleb opens the door and they take the stairs, their voices echoing in the stairwell. On the fifth floor, both of them hesitate.

“You want to come in for a nightcap?” Caleb asks, just enough of a humoristic inflection in his voice to make it easy for Ben to laugh off the offer if he wanted to.

“I’d love to,” Ben says, even though his mouth is dry and his pulse is thudding in his ears. Caleb gives him a small smile, much smaller than his usual grins but not any less heartfelt, and opens the door to his apartment.

Caleb’s apartment looks as if a bombshell went off, but in like a really nice home. Caleb’s numerous boots are strewn in a messy trail all along the small foyer, and Caleb carelessly steps out of the ones he’s wearing to walk further into his apartment, dropping his coat on a chair.

Ben follows him after putting his shoes together neatly by the door. The living room is covered in books, because the bookshelf is filled with dvds and memorabilia, everything from an Obama bobblehead to what looks like a signed baseball bat. Ben’s gaze lingers on the guitar in the corner, properly propped up, but adorned in Christmas lights. Caleb deftly avoids the towel draped and hanging from the door as he goes into the small kitchen

There are newspapers stacked everywhere in the kitchen, and Ben eyes the precarious mountain of dishes waiting in the sink with worry as he gingerly sits down by the kitchen table, covered in an open newspaper weighed down by an empty but clearly used cereal bowl. Caleb pulls out two glasses, opening his freezer with a scraping noise and plunking an ice cube in each glass. He retrieves a bottle of amber spirits from a cupboard, opening it and leaving the cork by the sink as he brings it to the table.

The realization that Caleb is a real person with real flaws and real habits, and not just a perfect bearded apparition, hits Ben suddenly, and with a force that leaves Ben a little breathless. It’s a visceral thing, all of a sudden, how much he wants to learn each and every thing that makes up Caleb.

Ben can’t help but give a chuckle, rubbing his thumb against his brow. Caleb gives him a questioning look.

“Whiskey not to your taste?`” he asks, showing Ben the label, as if Ben could tell the difference between whiskey and bourbon.

“It’s not that,” Ben says, lacing his fingers together to lean his chin on them. “It’s just- You’ve seen me at my worst. Like, several times. I can’t believe you agreed to go out with me.”

Caleb doesn’t respond immediately. He pours out a finger of whiskey in each glass and sets the bottle down before scooting one glass over the tabletop towards Ben. He sits down opposite Ben, drawing his own glass close.

“I don’t know if you remember,” Caleb says, his eyes reflecting the kitchen light and turning amber like the liquid in his glass, “but I was the one to ask you out.”

Ben, with his glass to his mouth, inhales a lungful of heavy fumes, gives a cough and sets the glass down.

“I guess I don’t get how you’d want to give me a chance,” Ben admits.

He can’t even hope to decipher the emotions that flicker over Caleb’s face in that moment. He looks surprised, Ben thinks, but still it’s Caleb who puts his hand over Ben’s on the tabletop.

“The first time I saw you,” Caleb says, “you looked like you were literally glowing. I didn’t think you were real at first.”

Ben feels his jaw drop. He’s not gaping like an idiot, but his entire face feels lax with shock.

Caleb leans back, taking a sip of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he furrows his brows thoughtfully.

“The second time I saw you, you looked exhausted,” Caleb continued. “I knew you were real then, because I remembered how cute you looked with your hair up.”

Ben’s hand, the one that Caleb isn’t grasping, self-consciously travels to grasp at his ponytail, before Ben even registers the movement.

“The third time I saw you I just wanted to get some of your ice cream.”

Ben laughs at that, a sudden and sharp sound. Caleb’s face breaks out into a grin, and it’s like seeing the sun come out.

“The fourth time I had decided to ask you out, but you seemed so stressed, and I didn’t want to corner you,”

“You could have,” Ben interjects immediately, turning his hand so that he can curl his fingers around Caleb’s hand. “I mean, you wouldn’t have cornered me.”

Caleb grins again, but this time there’s an edge to it, a wildness that sends a scorching thrill down Ben’s spine, unfurling in his stomach. Caleb sets the whiskey down, pushing it to the side where it clinks against Ben’s untouched glass.

“The fifth time,” Caleb starts, but Ben finishes for him.

“I fell on you, and I fell for you.”

Caleb laughs brightly as he leans across the small kitchen table, and Ben meets him halfway

Ben enjoys the aftertaste of whiskey on Caleb’s tongue, and Caleb seems to like nipping at Ben’s lips, as if he wants to draw out small gasps and swallow them whole. The beard isn’t scratchy at all, and Ben sends a small thought of thanks to the concept of beard oil, before Caleb stands up and wrenches Ben to his feet in the same movement.

Ben uses his height to leverage Caleb against the kitchen countertop, crossing his arms around his neck to fit their bodies together. Caleb gives a small noise of assent, and lets his hands grip Ben’s shoulders before they slide down to rest at the dip of his back.

This is where Ben’s elbow knocks into the mountain of dishes, sending them crashing down across the counter in a cacophony of breaking porcelain and clanging metal.

Instead of jumping apart, both Ben and Caleb cling closer together, staring in horror as the dust settles over the carnage of kitchenware, as one solitary plate rolls over the floor to slowly spin to a halt by the door.

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, eyes wide. He turns his gaze back to Caleb when Caleb gently taps his chin with a finger.

“It doesn’t matter,” Caleb says, eyes dancing with laughter. Ben lets himself fall into them, and soon they’re kissing again.


End file.
